


A Delicate Beast

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, M/M, Prostitution, Rape Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, S&M, Sex Work, Sub Drop, Violent Sex, sex is consensual but suspect, technically not a dark fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Before Stiles had arrived he’d googled what exactly could come under the topic of ‘rough sex’. Paddles, handcuffs, spanking. The bruises suggested that whomever he would meet tonight would want to knock him around a little: Fully simulated non consensual sex.Stiles flicks his eyes to Peter and has to almost instantly drag them away again in fear.This man wants to assault me.Stiles enters into an arrangement with a rich business man to make some money to pay off his College debts.Written for Shipping With Stiles week.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! This fic needs some serious break down. 
> 
> 1\. Everything in this fic _is_ consensual. However the point is that they're engaging in an act where they are playing a scene that involves assault. I have purposely manipulated the pov so we see the sex through Peter's eyes that heightens the perception that this is assault.  
>  2\. All the same, I have tagged this as non-con & dub-con. Noncon as I've written something that looks a lot like non-con. And dub-con as Peter throws money around to get himself a scene that is probably Not Healthy.   
> 3\. After the 'scene' there is attempts to show how everything that happened is within the realms of consensual sex (+ aftercare) but that doesn't mean Stiles isn't affected by it.

 

Stiles fidgets by the door of the elevator of the penthouse suite he’d just entered. He’s never been in a hotel so fancy, let alone the top floor. It would be the beginning of a lot of “never have I ever done..” acts for the night, and the tension of the situation has him jumpy.

He looks up again at the man sitting at the seating arrangement in the middle of the room, a large parlour between the entrance of the suite and the bedroom proper. It had been five minutes since his companion had greeted him and taken the envelope he had brought with him, and the silence was killing him.

“So?” Stiles finally says, taking a small step forward. 

“I am almost finished.” Answers the man.

Stiles rolls his eyes, unhappy at how long it was taking to get started. “You wrote the thing, surely you know what it says.”

“I did, but I am checking that this is indeed the document I had sent to you. Nondisclosure agreements rely on being watertight.” The man looks up at him again, cold hungry eyes dragging up and down Stiles’ body: not dissimilar to the look he’d received when he first entered. “As stated, you can sit while you wait.”

Stiles is rather enjoying the space between them and the safety that close proximity to the exit entailed, but since that wasn’t the nature of the visit it… It felt silly to stay so far away. He walks slowly over the couch, a decadent three piece in slate that looked offensively expensive, and Stiles sat at the opposite side of the furnishing.

Finally the man appears to be happy, opening his brief case and slotting the five page (double sided) document into a portfolio. He looks pleased, Stiles knew it would be fine. He hadn’t tampered with the document (other than spilling some coffee on the corner of page three) and had merely signed at the bottom. 

“Hello, I apologise for the wait. And my rudeness, Ge-”

“Stiles.” He cuts in. Stiles had considered choosing a different name altogether, but since the legal document needed his actual name anyway, it seemed ridiculous.

The man doesn’t appear too happy at the interruption, but his grin slid to the side all the same. It makes Stiles nervous. “I see,  _ Stiles _ . I appreciate your patience. And now that the paperwork is in order, I can finally introduce myself, my name is Peter, Peter Hale. Are you at all familiar with the name?”

Stiles shakes his head. 

“That’s fine. It isn’t requisite, and will probably make this easier.”

Stiles nerves are ever steadily increasing, he isn’t sure what he is supposed to do. If Peter is expecting him to initiate the evening, or even have an idea how this kind of thing starts. But Peter would know that he’d never done this before, that’s why he was requested. He gives in to the question.

“I don’t really know…”  _ What I’m doing here? Why I ever thought this was a good idea? What the fuck is about to happen? _ “...You know, what happens now.”

Peter’s grin widens further at that, and it makes Stiles’ stomach flip over. He is an attractive man, probably in his forties but not at all punished for it. It made Stiles even more worried, attractive rich men probably didn’t need to pay people for sex. Not the regular kind, or the kind that involved nondisclosure agreements.

“Don’t worry, I’m responsible for setting tonight’s schedule.” 

Stiles nods, tensing slightly before making the move closer towards the man. It was like approaching a sleeping bear, or a wild dog. Peter brings his hand down and stops Stiles when he made it halfway. “Really Stiles, we have more things to agree. And as much as I would like to-” his grip gets hard quickly, Peter’s large hands begetting a harsh squeeze that makes Stiles gasp, before relaxing, “- _ indulge _ now, we need to get the record straight. What did my associate tell you when he approached you?”

Stiles doesn’t take his eyes off Peter, but his mind flicks back to when he met with a man in a coffee shop two weeks ago. The man appeared to know about Stiles’ requests for help with his student funding at the bank, and had offered him a unique opportunity to make a lot of money. 

“He said that he had a client who wanted…. You know,” Peter is watching him like he is positively hungry for Stiles’ embarrassment. It angers Stiles, and emboldens him, “to fuck someone. For money, but who wasn’t actually a sex worker.”

“Did he tell you any more details about the kind of relations you’d be having?”

If Stiles is going to be honest, he couldn’t remember much of that day at all. It was all so overwhelming and unexpected. The promise of $100 just for calling the number on the card to find out more the only real message he remembers taking away from it.

“Rough. Rough sex. That I’d probably have…” Stiles’ anger induced bravado fails him suddenly, “bruises.” He notices that Peter never removed his hand when the man grips him again. The only sign that anything irregular has been said.

“Quite,” the man says finally moving his hand and taking out another document. This one is only one sheet. He places it on the table in front of Stiles. Flipped over so Stiles can only faintly see the words through the blank side.

“If you decide to go ahead with tonight’s activities you will receive the full amount detailed in your original document,” enough to dent the entire first year of Stiles’ tuition, “if you find yourself  _ unable  _ to agree to this schedule, then-” Peter’s eyes flicker over him again, “-I am happy to pay you a thousand dollars for whatever acts you do feel willing to offer instead. And of course, if you so choose to back out of the arrangement, you do not have to pay back any of the money or travel expenses you’ve already been given.” Peter spoke like it was a business deal, like he spent all his days arranging business deals just like that. From the look of his suit, the truly offensive amount of money he is planning to spend tonight, and the hotel room: the man clearly works in some form of business that facilitated him earning a lot of money.

Stiles nods, “Okay.” And picks up the sheet.

He almost drops it.

A small tremor running up his arm from reading the first line.

Before Stiles had arrived he’d googled what exactly could come under the topic of ‘rough sex’. Paddles, handcuffs, spanking. The bruises suggested that whomever he would meet tonight would want to knock him around a little. 

_ Fully simulated non consensual sex. _

Stiles flicks his eyes to Peter and has to almost instantly drag them away again in fear. 

_ This man wants to assault me.  _

The details, the possibilities of what could happen,  _ what would be expected of him, _ is written out in clear concise terms. Far easier to parse than the legal document he had signed earlier. Peter was clearly invested in Stiles understanding exactly what was  _ scheduled _ for the night.

“Why?” Is the first thing Stiles asks, almost accidentally. 

Peter laughs, it’s a deep warm sound that is shocking because of how  _ nice  _ it sounds compared to the topic at hand.

Peter smiles at him, “Full of surprises you are,  _ that  _ I’ve never been asked.” The smile he gives, - Peter’s eyes bright, intense, and hard - are antithetical to the laugh he’d just given.

“Sorry-”

“-No, no. It’s fine. But the answer is simply: because I can.”

“Could you not..” Stiles begins to ask, but then realises that he doesn’t really know what else  _ could  _ Peter do? Go out and attack someone? “...I guess even money can’t protect you from the law.”

“Oh it can.” Peter says with a smile, “I very probably could get away with taking whatever I wanted. But,” he says with a sigh, like it’s burden he’s willing to take on, “this option is available to me and just as fulfilling.” 

Stiles finishes the sentence with ‘ _ for now’ _ in his head, and has to glance away again lest Peter can tell. He probably can. He probably said it that way on purpose.

It brings his focus back to the sheet in front of him.

“I don’t know if I can, you know, act this. I’ve not got any experience with  _ scenes  _ or whatever.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t want an act. It’s why you’re here, a bit scared, very naive. You just have to know what I’m going to do is very scary and very violent, and not want to do it.”

Stiles is sweating, just slightly down the back of his neck. He wants to correct Peter, he is much more than ‘a bit’ scared. He thinks of the money. How it’s only one night. How it was only a  _ scene _ and he was just an acceptable actor for the role.

“And a safe word?” Stiles asks, there’s a dotted line at the bottom for Stiles to write it.

Peter pinches his lips, but it bleeds into his standard grin all the same. “Yes, it’s available to you. Having one won’t affect the money already agreed…. However, if you choose to go without one, I’ll double it.”

Stiles stares at him, “ _ It? _ All of it?” 

“The entire sum.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“It’s a worthy price.”

Stiles nods, it  _ is _ a worthy price. A safeword is a safety net. It’s a gentle thread that lets him live in a world where everything that is happening he is consenting to. It’s a get out clause if he changes his mind, and needs a break, or a ‘fuck this, it’s not worth it’. 

“What if I write one… But I don’t use it?”

Peter laughs again. Stiles is again put off by how much he likes it.

“No sale.” 

Stiles nods, he had expected as much. He looks at Peter, analysing him. How heavy he looks, how strong. He’s tempted to ask Peter how big his dick is ( _ Please say he’s one of those guys with a tiny dick who needs fucked up sex to compensate for it _ ) like that will help him decide. It’s a lot of money, the kind of money that will mean Stiles’ first of year college would be rendered debt free, with spare change left over. It would mean come the next tuition payment, he isn’t sitting there talking to banks asking for a life crippling debt increasement. 

_ It’s just one night.  _

“Okay. I’ll do it, all of it, without a safe word.”

_ It’s the beginning of a very long night. _

 

* * *

 

 

Peter keeps his head together while he packs away all the documents, locking them neatly in his briefcase and setting it aside. The young man is almost vibrating next to him with nerves, and it’s worth it to savour the moment. The end of their pleasant candour. He’s enjoyed Stiles’ brashness. He never got that from the paid sex workers before, people who understood the scope of the job. Unphased by what was asked by them, eager and happy to perform. 

Stiles didn’t look very eager. 

The decision to pay more for someone with less experience was proving to be a good one. Peter had had an erection since the elevator lit up half an hour ago, but by now he’s hard enough to dent steel. A veritable weapon in of itself. 

He picks up the jug of water and pours Stiles a glass of water, two chips of ice slipping into the crystal glass. Delicately he lifts it to the teen’s mouth and encourages him to swallow it down. Stiles doesn’t appear to want to straight away but assents, swallowing down the liquid. Encouraged by Peter’s other hand taking hold of his jaw to position him. He whines slightly when Peter tips the glass faster than he wants to swallow, and it’s like a gift. Unhappy little breaths panting out through the teen's nose as his throat constricts under the gushing water. Stiles moves a hand to Peter’s arm, as if to slow down the pace, but his grip is nothing. Weak, ineffective, small. 

Peter feels like he could do this all night. Force feeding Stiles, until his belly is distended, and he’s crying from the pressure. It’s a nice thought, and an idea he files away for another time. Stiles’ eyes water when he’s forced to swallow the smooth slices of ice, some of the liquid trickling down his face as he chokes on them. The hand holding Stiles’ jaw still gets wet and Peter smears the water across Stiles’ cheek. Stretching Stiles’ neck back so the remaining inch of water can be swallowed. 

Finally he takes away the empty glass and just looks at the young man. Panting, eyes damp, silent. 

He’s so pretty, Peter wants to hurt him. 

As a final impulse Peter leans forward to kiss him, sucking on Stiles’ lower lip and licking up the wet mouth. It’s a heavy kiss, more intense than harsh, and Peter revels in it. Before breaking apart. Stiles still panting, still wobbling, still pretty.

Peter hits him. 

It’s a smack across the face hard enough the Stiles slips off the couch onto the floor. His own hands coming up to touch the smart. He looks scared.

He looks  _ scared. _

Peter gets up and throws the glass against the wall. The teen backs up away from him, as fast as he can. Quickly hitting the wall, Peter shrugs off his suit coat, loosening his ties as he walks over. The moment Stiles’ eyes flick towards the exit is enough to make him growl in pleasure.

He drags Stiles up by the teen’s sweater, batting away Stiles arms that are trying to move them apart.

“Peter, Peter  _ wait- _ ” Peter hits him again, harder but with an open palm. It knocks the air out of him, and Peter can manhandle him out of his sweater, the light t-shirt going with it.

Stiles is so skinny, his muscles evident due to thinness over tone. He pins one of the hands against the wall, and slides his own over Stiles’ quivering abs.

“Don’t, I don’t want to. Peter I’m scared. No! NO!” Peter bites him, repeatedly down the sternum. Two of them already bleed, and Peter has the image of chewing through the teen’s chest. Swallowing his rapidly beating heart. 

Something must have ticked over in Stiles as he starts struggling for real now. He gets a fair jab in at Peter’s jaw that gives the slight teen just enough space to slip away from the wall. There’s nowhere to go though, and he’s just running away from the exit. Peter grabs the back of his neck and slams him down onto the desk Stiles was trying to skitter past. 

When Stiles starts babbling again in fear Peter knocks the head down again. He’d bludgeon the kid if he could, make him quiet. Make him lax, and easy to enter, but it’d ruin the fun too early. 

Peter takes his ties and puts it in Stiles’ mouth like a bit. Laughing as Stiles tries to bite his fingers, and pulling it tight against the teen’s cheeks. No matter how hard Stiles is trying to lock his arms Peter drags them behind his back anyway. Stiles screams - barely muffled by the gag - when Peter pulls his left arm too hard, but it gets the limbs behind Stiles back. He ties them with the ends of the tie, a line of material from his neck to his arms. Tight enough that it’s unlikely that Stiles could stand up without his arms risking breaking his neck. It frees Peter up to take off Stiles’ jeans. 

Tight black material, it’s adorable that Stiles’ probably wore them for Peter’s benefit, in the end, they have their uses. Peter only drags them down past Stiles’ arse. It means that Stiles’ legs are trapped together, and as the kid tries to kick at him, he’s limited by his own clothes.

Stiles is sobbing now, probably started around the time of his arm being wrenched. 

He still looks so pretty.

“Fuck,” Peter says, finally. He’s been silent for most of the time. And him speaking make Stiles freeze like a prey, before trying a new bout of struggling.

Peter just keeps one hand on the back of Stiles’ neck and uses the other to explore Stiles’ arse. The jeans mean that Stiles cheeks are close together, and Peter has to slide his fingers down the tight passage to find his hole. He bypasses it down to Stiles’ taint, two fingers slide over tight little balls tucked up into Stiles’ body, and a soft cock. 

Peter growls in approval, dragging his hand out and getting out his own cock from his trousers.

He spits in his hand and slides it over his cock. Stiles’ words are muffled but he’s shaking, shuffling, trying to get away. He keeps clenching his arse in fear, trying to move out the way. But Peter just keeps pushing his fat cock again the soft cheeks. It’s not easy, not wet enough, not exposed enough. 

If this was an act of romance Peter would have worked Stiles open with lube, spread his legs to make it easier. Instead he just keeps feeding his cock between Stiles’ legs.

When the thick cock head is finally pushing against the hidden little hole Stiles starts keening. 

He can hear the words “No, no, don’t, give me lube, please anything else.” Even through the gag.

Peter risks letting go of Stiles neck to help drag open Stiles’ arse cheek, to make the penetration possible, Stiles struggles but then screams again when the tip breaches him. 

It’s so fucking tight. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever been in anything so tight. It almost hurts, the muscle fluttering and spasming around him. Trying to force him out. In his distraction Stiles has started to try and slide down the table, to get away. Peter smothers him, using the whole pressure of his body to trap the slight teen to the table. It lets his cock slide in deeper, and then he can do nothing but fuck the small body beneath him.

Long hard slaps of his hips, repeatedly forcing his nine inches into Stiles’ channel. It gets slicker, and he doesn’t know if that’s from precum or a tear, but the thought of pulling out his dick bloody just makes him fuck harder.  

Stiles is still begging him, but it’s very muffled now. Since his lungs are suppressed against the table, and it’s not what Peter cares about. All he can think about is how hard his dick is, and how far get can get it inside the teen’s arse. 

When he can feel the threat of orgasm, he pulls back, changing the position. Using Stiles’ hands to drag him back on his cock, each time the tie pulling Stiles’ neck back and choking out his whines. 

It’s too much, he’s already going to cum. It feels a waste, to let this first one to arrive so fast, but it’s worth it. It’s what he’s wanted for so long, what he’s sought. It’s like flying, he can hear Stiles’ crying and it’s that thought that sends him over the edge. Fucking streams of cum into Stiles’ tight hidden heat. 

 

* * *

 

 

Peter dumps Stiles still bound body on the couch and pours himself a glass of water. He took a mild viagra earlier, to make the night worth it, and it’s on the up: his erection still hard but not at full mast.

Stiles lays there panting for a while, before trying to wriggle out of the binds. Peter watches him from a chair, enjoying Stiles’ pitiful mewls every time he pulls his neck a bit too tight. Peter sheds his remaining clothes and jacks off his cock. Pulling his foreskin back and forth over the sensitive edge, encouraging his erection and sensitivity to return.

He’s leaking precum by the time Stiles’ has leveraged his arms so he can spit out the tie from his mouth. 

“You fuck!” The teen shouts, and Peter joins him on the couch.

“Tch, tch, language.” He snaps the tie, the move done quickly and it makes Stiles jump.

“Are we done?” Stiles asks, glancing at Peter. His eyes look hopeful, and dewy. The smack from earlier already blooming across his cheek. He looks edible to Peter. 

“Not even close.” He likes having Stiles free on the couch, now the first fuck is out of the way - his fantasy of dominating someone absolutely fulfilled - he enjoys pinning Stiles’ struggles instead. He gets his tongue bitten open so it bleeds as he forces a kiss into Stiles’ mouth. It’s glorious, and he laughs against Stiles lips. “You’re even better than I thought you’d be. You’re so fucking pretty.” 

“Fuck you.” Stiles hisses, elbowing Peter in the jaw. Peter laughs some more, he wants to put his dick in Stiles again. Wants to fuck little breathy moans out of him. He pulls off Stiles’ jeans and pushes three fingers inside Stiles, feeling the wetness of his own cum marked the boy inside him. Stiles whines, cries in distress. He’s clearly sore. “Don’t, just wait.” He struggles differently, he’s so expressive. One moment it’s righteous anger the next is pitiful begging. “Please, Peter. It’s hurts, just  _ wait _ -” 

Peter wants to shut him up again. He gets up off the coach, and Stiles pants for a second before trying to bolt it to the elevator. Peter catches him and throws him against the wall. Stiles’ head knocks heavily against it, but more than anything it catches the same arm that Peter damaged earlier. He crumples on the floor, whining a litany of  _ nos  _ when Peter walks up to him. 

Peter loves the way he flinches the closer Peter gets. It feels real, genuine. A reaction he couldn’t control or hide, let alone fake. He takes his prick and smears it across Stiles face, a glistening trail of precum from cheek to lip. Stiles snaps his mouth close, as if that could help him. Peter grabs the arm that is dislocated, he knows he has to be careful not to actually break it. If he does he’ll just pay Stiles more, but it wasn’t something detailed in the schedule. Maybe next time he should add the risk.  _ Maybe next time will be with Stiles again, he does love the way he can see fear and uncertainty flicker through honey coloured eyes.  _ He drags the arm up the wall, the pain must be excruciating for Stiles. He looks dizzy. 

“Open up.” Stiles shakes his head, tears flooding down his cheeks even with eyes closed.

Peter pulls the arm up further, enough that he’s pretty sure he’s going to start tearing tendons soon. Stiles screams, and Peter lets the arm relax a little. 

“ _ Open up. _ ” Stiles trembles for a second, not looking at him, refusing to open his eyes. But he finally opens his mouth a little. Peter forces his thumb into the mouth, tucking it between Stiles back molars. The teeth come down around it, trying to bite Peter’s thumb open, trying to force it out. It hurts but that just makes it better for Peter. He lets go of the dislocated arm and takes hold of his prick. 

Using his thumb in the wet mouth he pries the teeth open far enough that the heavy girth of his prick can make its way in between. Stiles whines, he holds his arm close to his body and tries to move his head out the way. It’s a tight fit, and Peter feels the scrape of teeth as he forces his fat erection inside, but it’s worth it. The meaty flesh of his thumb takes the brunt of Stiles trying to shut his mouth, so his more sensitive flesh can push forward. 

Stiles head is against the wall, he has nowhere to go. He whines, drags in air from his nose and Peter’s erection keeps moving forward. With the thumb in his mouth Peter drags his head up more so his throat is open to Peter’s cock. Open so Peter can finally shove the whole of his length inside. He pushes in until Stiles’ nose is flush with his crotch, grinding forward. Stiles squirms, he can’t breath, he brings his hands up to Peter’s thighs and tries to push away. Tries to move away, he can’t though. He panics, tries to kick his leg against Peter’s, a lot of the fight of had gone out of him after trying to fight Peter off in the couch but it comes back in full force now he can’t breath. It makes Peter smile, moving back so he cock leaves Stiles’ mouth. 

If Stiles thinks he’s given a reprieve it’s quickly proven wrong. He grabs Stiles’ arms, both of them but with specific attention to the one that is vulnerable. Peter drags them above Stiles’ head, almost to the place that had Stiles screaming before. It limits Stiles’ movements, he can’t struggle too much lest he drags his arm further out of its socket. It’s exactly what Peter wanted.

“There we go. Let’s play nice and swallow down this fat cock and you might walk away with your arm working.” He doesn’t need to use his thumb to force Stiles’ lips open this time, he holds both arms in one hand, and uses the other to feed his cock inside and then grip Stiles’ hair to position him to take dick most effectively.

The sound of fucking someone’s mouth is inelegant. A lot of lewd gulping, crying and heaving panting through someone’s nose. At one point he thinks Stiles is going to be sick from the constant trigger of his gag reflex, but Peter just keeps himself deep inside until Stiles managed to force it down. It’s not a short blow job.

He looks beautiful like this. Angry, scared, in pain. Desperate for it to be over. Enduring it because there’s nothing else he can do. In that moment Peter wants to chain him to a bed and never let him go. 

It’s the thought that tips him over, his thrusts speeding up - making Stiles whine even more - and his cums down Stiles throat. He was tempted to pull out at the last second to cum over Stiles’ face , but there’s something visceral about staying inside. 

Stiles is trying to swallow, more from trying to get cum out of his windpipe than anything else, but some still spills forward around the dick in his mouth and down his chin. When Peter finally pulls out more comes with it. And Peter kneels on the floor, dropping Stiles arms, so he can lick across Stiles’ face and fuck his tongue into the mouth. Stiles tries to push his face away so he can pant in peace, but inevitably submits to that as well. 

He’s clearly too tired now to put up much of a struggle. He just pants into Peter’s mouth, just holding Peter’s shoulders like that might do something. 

Peter’s prick is still hard from the stimulant. It really was mild, but the excitement of the evening it keeping him active. He manhandles Stiles to the floor, knocking his legs apart so he can situate himself between the lax legs and pushes his cock into Stiles’ hole. It goes easier than the first time. Eased by the cum still leaking out of the slighter man, but it still makes Stiles hiss from sensitivity. His dick goes in deep at this angle, and Stiles squirms under him, constantly giving up and then renewing his struggles. Peter swallows up all his whines, pinning down Stiles and fucking his mouth in tandem. It’s clearly a lot for Stiles, he goes quiet after a while. Peter flips him over and begins fucking him for the better part of an hour. The stimulant keeping his cock hard but the build to sensitivity a long one.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles is clearly in some kind of subspace, Peter muses. He places him on the couch, a lot more gently than he did before. The young man is still quiet, his eyes a little bit glassy. He whines when Peter pushes his shoulder back into place but doesn’t struggle away.

“Stiles, are you with me?” Peter asks, Stiles doesn’t say anything in response. It’s like he’s not quite there. Peter has done his own dalliance with S&M clubs, he knows what this looks like. He’s almost envious of the adrenaline high Stiles is coasting on, he can never lose himself in a scene like this. Too much need for control. He tries to encourage Stiles to drink some water, but Stiles isn’t responsive. There are a litany of bruises over the boy, it suits his pretty pale skin. 

He doesn’t really want to leave Stiles, but he needs to start some kind of aftercare. He walks in through the bedroom - grabbing some sweat pants to pull on - and into the bathroom suite and starts running a bath. There are three different kind of jet systems available to him but he doesn’t use them. Calm hot water seems like the best idea. When he returns Stiles is still slumped on the couch, looking out at the world but not really seeing. Peter picks him up in a bridal carry, and carries him through. The water is deep and hot, although not enough to be scolding, and delicately he places Stiles in the bath. Hot water covering the man’s battered body, and splashing up his chest. Stiles is still boneless, but as soon as the water gets close to his face he wakes up.

Stiles sits up, gasping, “What?” his hand comes out, grabbing at Peter’s arm to stop himself from slipping down. He freaks out, looks at Peter and flinches. His hand still clutching Peter’s arm, his body not sure if it wants to move away or get closer. 

Peter makes the decision for him, not even thinking about his sweat pants, climbing into the bath so he’s kneeling over Stiles. Arm wrapped around his torso, so he can bring Stiles into his chest. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s over, you’re done. It’s done.” Stiles cries, he clutches at Peter harder. Seeking comfort from the person who had just hurt him. It’s beautiful. Peter is so pleased with him, “You did such a good job. I’m so proud of you. You were perfect. You’re done now, it’s over.” 

He stays in the bath, washes Stiles. Let’s the hot water soak into his bruises, cuts and bite marks. Gently he washes over Stiles’ hole, kissing the side of his head. “I know, I know, it hurts. But just to check. It’s done, you don’t have to worry. We’re just checking.” There’s no tearing, the skin is swollen and red from the lack of lube on the first penetration, but no actual damage. 

Peter washes quickly himself, throwing his sodden sweat pants on the floor of the bathroom and getting them both out the water. He dries Stiles carefully. Gentle around the bruises, he wants to kiss some of the worse ones, but doesn’t want to cross any of Stiles’ lines. Get him confused between what happened and now. Stiles is shattered, barely keeping his eyes open. He’s awake, lucid, just quiet and tired.

“Come on. Let’s rest now.” He pulls on a pair of boxers, and finds a pair for Stiles too. They come up big on him. Peter isn’t a big man, more muscle than anything else, but Stiles’ narrow hips doesn’t give much for the material to hold on to. It doesn’t really matter, Peter would have them sleep naked, but he wants to give Stiles a barrier. 

He gets them into bed and Stiles freezes. “Are we?” He asks quietly.

“No, you’re done. You’re off the clock, we’re just going to rest for a while. It’s important. I put it in the schedule.” If Stiles really wanted to go right now Peter would let him, no questions asked, but he knows it’s a bad idea. What happened needs to be normalised, categorised as play. Something they both consented to in their own way and is now over. 

Stiles nods. He doesn’t resist as Peter turns him over and tucks him close to his body. He’s touching nearly every inch of Stiles’ body, if he leaned forward more then Stiles would be trapped underneath him. Like he was on the desk. The thought almost reminds his cock that it had a wake up call of a pill earlier, but he pushes it out of his mind. 

“You were so good for me.” He murmurs against Stiles’ neck, his hand stroking up Stiles’ arm. “I couldn’t have asked for anything more. I’m grateful, and you’re done. You did what you needed to do and you’re done.” Stiles goes slightly boneless, his breathing stuttering. Peter stays awake for a while longer, waiting to make sure that Stiles has really managed to drop off to sleep.   
  


* * *

 

 

Stiles wakes to a strange noise coming from the other room. For a second he’s disorientated, he’s lying on someone’s chest. He’s incredibly warm. His body is in pain. He flinches when the information comes to him, the memory of last night. How violent the man he is lying on can be. 

Tentatively Stiles glances to the man’s face, he looks asleep. Stiles could smother him with a pillow right now. The thought is a strange one, like a fear response.  _ Fight or flight.  _ And he lets out a deep breath. He’s okay. He really wants to go home and be in his own space, take a moment to break down what happened last night. Genty he slips out of the bed, the noises are coming from the parlour. The room where it all played out. Stiles pads over to the door and opens it a fraction of the way. There’s three people in there, they’re putting the room back together. They look like concierge staff. Their uniforms are far too nice to be cleaners… This must be their way of discretely pretending nothing happened. His clothes are still scattered across the room in there, the only way out is walking past them, picking up his clothes, and going to the elevator. 

“You shouldn’t go now.” Comes the voice behind him.

Stiles flinches at the sudden noise, closing the door and looking over at Peter. “Why?”

“Because it will be awkward and embarrassing to you. It will make you feel worse.” Peter is barely sitting up, his body is still open and relaxed from sleep. The opposite of how he was last night.

“I can deal with embarrassment.” 

“Okay.”

“I can,” He’s a bit angry, and he isn’t really sure at what. “You don’t have to coddle me. It was just an act last night, I’m fine.”

“I know it was.” Peter isn’t really arguing with him, but Stiles doesn’t feel able to let it go.

“...I know I got a bit… Weird at the end. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I get that.” Peter pauses, like he’s weighing his words. “It was overwhelming, but that doesn’t mean you were out of control.” It’s a funny thing for Peter to say. Control was so obviously what the man wanted last night, what he took from Stiles. To openly give it back to Stiles feels like a peace offering.

Stiles nods. His body aches, he’s still tired. 

Peter pulls the blanket back. “Come back to bed. Sleep some more of it off, they’ll be done in an hour or so.”

The prospect of walking back over to Peter is something that feels daunting and welcome all at the same time. He kind of wants to climb back into Peter’s arms, have him hold him. Say nice things to him. It’s a strange urge and he treats it with suspicion. “I can go whenever I want?”

“Whenever you want.” Peter confirms. Calm and unphased at Stiles' request.

Stiles walks back towards the bed, he slips into the duvet accepting Peter’s arms around him. “I’m okay.”

“I believe you.” Peter resettles them so Stiles is back to lying on his chest.

“It was just an act.”

“I know. Go back to sleep, we can talk more later if you want.”

Stiles didn’t really want to talk more about it later but his body told him he was achy and tired, so he closed his eyes all the same.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting changed back into his clothes is awkward. His body hurts even more now and putting his t-shirt on was difficult. He’s taken some strong painkillers that numbs the worse of it, but stretching his arm through the shirt still hurts.

“Come here.” Peter is sitting on the couch, his brief case is open and Stiles isn’t sure if the papers he had out was about him or simply work.

“Why?” Stiles says, still hovering by his neatly stacked pile of clothes. He is between Peter and the exit. 

“I’m going to help you, and I want to look at your bruises.”

Stiles hesitates and then walks over. Peter runs his hands over the livid spots on his skin. The move felt more appreciatory than a simple check for his well being. “Pleased with your handy work?” Stiles quips, more sarcastic than bitter.

Peter just smiles, “Very.” He pushes a thumb into against the worst bite mark on Stiles’ chest. Stiles hisses, not quite stepping away. Peter’s grin becomes more rueful. “Sorry, you’re irresistible.”

Stiles flushes, and lets Peter help redress him. He doesn’t comment on what Peter said.

“You took the week off like you were recommended?” Peter asks when he’s done.

Stiles nods. “Yeah, I’m not seeing anyone for probably two weeks.”

Stiles hasn’t properly looked at the damage yet, he wonders what his face looks like. 

“For the best, you’re compensated for it. About the money, it’s already been wired to you. Check your account when you’re home, text me on this-” he hands Stiles a card. It’s heavier than the one that Peter’s ‘associate’ gave him, “-when you know it’s there. If there’s any problems, let me know.”

“Okay.” It’s really very awkward, talking about money. Talking about the money he got paid for having sex with someone. Although it wasn’t really the sex he was paid for, it was the act. The pageantry. The litany of bruises he now has.

“I’ll contact you to let you know I’ve got the message… If you choose not to reply I’ll know you’d prefer not to hear from me again.” Peter says it like he’s factored that in as an option. That Stiles will never ever want to even think about him again. It’s a possibility. Stiles finds it hard to work that out when he’s standing in front of the man.

“Okay. I’m going to go now.” 

“There will be a car for you to take you home.”

“Right.” Stiles hadn’t even thought of that.

Peter stands up and walks him to the elevator, pushing the button for him. When the lift arrives he brings his hand up to Stiles’ jaw. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s nothing like the kiss Peter gave him when the evening before started. It’s still controlling, and Peter kisses like he’s devouring someone. But it’s not as dominating, less like Peter is making some kind of point and instead is sharing something. 

Stiles’ eyes flutter open to look at the man when the kiss is done. He isn’t sure what is running through his head. Peter smiles at him. “It was wonderful meeting you Stiles.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say back, saying  _ you too  _ would be wholly inaccurate, so instead he just nods and slips into the elevator. He watches Peter’s face as the doors the close, the man’s serious gaze on him until the last second.

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as Stiles had gotten home he had checked his bank balance and almost fallen over. Although he knew there was going to be a lot of money there, it didn’t really settle in until he saw it all there on his laptop. It was mind blowing. Peter really had doubled the whole amount, and then -  _ after some super quick but obsessive maths -  _ he had clearly tipped Stiles as well.

The first thing Stiles had done was call up his College’s finance department and paid his fees for the next term. The second thing was call up his bank and paid off his debt. It was depressing how quickly all the money went, but it was gone, and Stiles was free of it. Even if he had to take out another loan to cover third year, it would have a smaller inflation on the dues thanks to his credit score. 

His body ached, but in that moment he was glad he did it. No matter what the rest of it meant, Stiles had managed to put himself in a better financial situation that he could ever dream of without it.

He’d picked up his phone and texted the number on the card. “Everything was fine with the bank.”

A few minutes late he gets a text back. “That’s good to hear. Take care of yourself this week x.”

Stiles had set the phone aside and not text Peter back.

That was a week ago. Stiles felt much better, he’d even seen his dad and laughed off the residue bruising. “I tried out for football, apparently I am awful at it.” He really must be looking a lot better if that was a completely believable line.

He’d missed some classes, but as he had told his teachers about the planned absence that was fine. Stiles had more than made up for missing the class, confining himself to the house had meant that sometimes doing his College reading was the only distraction.

Stiles had been thinking about Peter a lot. At first in a kind of nervous way. A lot of the images of that night snuck up on him suddenly, when he hears a loud noise he jumps and image of Peter throwing the glass against the wall assaults him.

He has also thought about afterwards. Peter washing him, sharing a bed with the man. It was like something so big and caustic happened that he wants to talk to the only other person who was there.

Stiles plays with his phone, his laptop in front of him and some game he’s been playing on steam currently on pause. 

“My bruises are going down.” He texts, impulsive.

A second later and the phone rings. It’s the number that Stiles has saved under ‘Peter’. The man has called him, apparently taking Stiles’ text as an invitation for engagement. Cautiously Stiles answers.

“Hello?”

“Hello Stiles, I’m glad to hear you’re healing fine.” There’s the noise of a keyboard being tapped away at from Peter’s side of the phone. Stiles wonders if he’s at the office.

“Really? Not put out that your evidence is fading?” Stiles isn’t completely sure why he says it.

Peter laughs, it’s still a nice sound. “You really are nothing like I expected. And yes, you’re right. It’s a shame, I should have requested pictures.”

“I don’t think I’d consent to pictures.”

“I thought so, it’s why I left it out.”

Stiles doesn’t say something for a moment. He doesn’t really know why they’re talking on the phone. “Did you want something?”

“I want lots of things.” Peter might be flirting with him, or soliciting him. It’s hard to tell when you’re talking to a man who has previously paid you for sex.

“What does that mean?”

“What would you say if I asked to see you again?”

Stiles’ heart races. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can do what we did before again.” It’s not like anything that happened that night was a surprise, everything that Peter did to him had been written as a possibility. It was just a lot. He’d consented, but it was a lot.

“That’s okay. I don’t always want the same things. How do you feel about running?”

“Running? Like, a cross country?”

“I was thinking more through a woods at night.”

It’s such a strange thing to say. “Is that a sex thing?”

“Hopefully.”

“You want we to run through some forest?”

“I want you to run through  _ my  _ forest. On my property. No worry about strangers interrupting.”

“Right. Well, I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Honest. I like that. Will you let me tell you more about what I’m thinking? And suggest some compensation?”

Peter’s tone is light. Open, like they’re arranging a basketball game. Like everything is in Stiles’ court and this is all perfectly normal. Maybe it is to Peter. Maybe he really is the sort of guy who has a fantasy and throws money at it until he gets it. 

“Okay, yes. You can tell me about it.”

“Excellent.” It’s not like he has to say yes after all.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As you can probably tell from the end, I have already got a semi-sequel in my head. The only problem is that if I write more of this and I might have to actually introduce some plot. (Possible, I wonder if I can even get a happy ending out of it). 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I've spent a lot of time writing some Nice Peter emotionally and sexually recently, so I thought I'd take a break and write him on the very dark grey side of the moral spectrum. Please kudos & comment (:


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